


say pretty please

by crimsonxflowers



Series: kinktober 2017 [2]
Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Biting, Established Relationship, Jealousy, Kinktober, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Semi-Public Sex, Strength Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 18:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12259992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonxflowers/pseuds/crimsonxflowers
Summary: “Somethin’ wrong, Mey?” Charlie says through a smirk, but Meyer knows the flush on his face isn’t from the alcohol alone, and the heat in his eyes flares when Meyer crowds him against the door even harder.“Shut. Up.”





	say pretty please

**Author's Note:**

> aka "ho night"
> 
> written for kinktober 2017, for the day 3 prompt "public sex / biting / strength kink." yes, i wrote one fic for all three prompts. it was Too Good To Resist.

The noise Charlie makes as his back slams against the stall door is half grunt, half moan, but Meyer’s too pissed off to really appreciate it. The club’s bathroom is filthy, he's sure, and any other time it'd be far more of a hindrance. Right now, he doesn't quite care.

“Somethin’ wrong, Mey?” Charlie says through a smirk, but Meyer knows the flush on his face isn’t from the alcohol alone, and the heat in his eyes flares when Meyer crowds him against the door even harder. Charlie’s hard in his stupidly tight jeans, and Meyer grabs his hips to grind their cocks together through layers of fabric, angry satisfaction ripping through him at Charlie’s needy gasp.

“Shut. Up,” Meyer grits out, and leans up to sink his teeth into the juncture of Charlie’s neck and shoulder. He doesn't even have to tug the shirt aside to do it, the scoop neck exposing Charlie’s shoulders for anyone to see, and that makes it even worse. It's definitely a moan this time, choked and startled, but Charlie clutches at his hair and pushes down instead of pulling. So he sucks at the skin between his teeth, determined to leave a mark. If people are going to look he's going to leave behind something to mark Charlie as _his_.

The whole point of them going out like this is to get him riled up, Meyer knows; he likes being able to stake a claim, and Charlie’s an incurable show-off, and it's always gone smoothly on the occasions they've done this kind of thing before. But it's one thing knowing everyone’s eyes are on Charlie, it’s one thing knowing other people see him and want him and _can’t have him_ , because he’s Meyer’s.

It's another seeing some whore put her hands on Charlie like she thinks she can entice him away. That's another thing entirely.

Meyer growls at the memory, shifting to leave another bite mark above the one he's already made. He presses tighter against Charlie's body, and the way Charlie pants as he worries the skin of his throat between his teeth is far more appealing than the club music bleeding faintly through the bathroom door. He pulls back, and hums with satisfaction, leaning up to brush a thumb over the bruises already forming on Charlie’s tanned skin. If the motion forces his thigh tighter against Charlie’s groin, no one can blame him for rolling his hips a little more forcefully than necessary.

Charlie’s already halfway to blissed out, gaze heated but unfocused as he meets Meyer’s eyes. Meyer swallows hard, jealousy warring with the same almost-protective urge he feels whenever Charlie feels secure enough to let go like this. “Tell me you’re mine,” he bites out, and it will feel too needy, too unsure later. For now he’s too consumed by arousal, by anger, by the feeling of Charlie hot and hard against him.

Charlie whines, and Meyer feels it against his chest as much as he hears it. “‘Course ‘m yours, Meyer,” he pants, and he leans forward to press frantic kisses to whatever part of Meyer he can reach. “Only ever want you.”

“Good,” Meyer’s voice is a low, possessive rumble in his chest. He leans up to finally, _finally_ , press his lips to Charlie’s, the whiskey Charlie downed at the bar still sharp on his tongue when he kisses back, wet and uncoordinated and desperate. Meyer catches Charlie’s lip between his teeth and tugs, and Charlie moans into his mouth as his fingers tighten in Meyer’s hair. It's good, it's always so good, and there's nothing he loves more than the needy noises spilling out of Charlie as they kiss, but it's not enough.

He needs Charlie closer.

He slides his palms down Charlie’s side, hooking his hands under Charlie’s thighs to hitch them both up around his waist. Charlie gasps against his lips as the fixtures of the stall rattle behind him, but he locks his legs around Meyer and grinds against him, soft noises escaping his throat at the friction between them.

“Fuck, Meyer,” he whines, stroking his hands along Meyer’s shoulders, like he's been thrown off-script and doesn't know what to do next, pinned against the door by the pressure of Meyer against him. “How long you gonna keep me like this?”

“As long as I have to,” Meyer growls in response, and the way Charlie's thighs tighten around him, the way he whimpers and tilts his head back again, sends another bolt of heat straight to Meyer’s cock. He slides his hands back, up the backs of Charlie’s thighs to grab his ass and keep him pinned—right where Meyer wants him.

The flush across Charlie’s cheeks has crept down his throat, staining his exposed collarbone the same dusky pink as his face. “Mey, _please—_ ” he pants, eyes squeezed shut and voice shaky. His hands still flit along Meyer’s arms, fingers digging into the muscle of his bicep as Meyer pushes up a few inches, lips against the still-unmarked side of Charlie’s neck.

His grip on Charlie’s ass tightens, fingers digging into the denim of his jeans. “Please what, Charlie?” he whispers against Charlie’s skin, feigning restraint even though he’s just as close to the edge as Charlie sounds.

“Anythin’, anythin’ you want,” Charlie babbles, the response immediate and frantic. “Want everyone to know I'm yours, want ‘em to see it, I wanna feel it, want you to mark me up _everywhere_ , Meyer, please.”

And that's all the encouragements Meyer needs to sink his teeth in again. Charlie’s moan is like a benediction as he grinds their hips together in tight, filthy circles. They're both too far gone and their hands are too occupied to do anything else, but it’s enough. Charlie’s loud enough that people can probably hear him outside. _Let them_ , Meyer thinks through the fog in his head, let them know exactly what’s going on and who’s responsible for the way Charlie’s panting and whining.

Charlie’s hips stutter against his, and his grip on Meyer’s biceps tightens as he comes, brokenly panting Meyer’s name, and that’s all it takes for Meyer to follow him over the edge, face tucked tight to Charlie’s shoulder as he moans against his skin.

The ache in Meyer’s shoulders reaches untenable levels far faster than he’d like to admit. Charlie must be able to feel the way his grip wobbles, because he gingerly extracts a leg til one foot’s flat on the floor, before grinning down at Meyer like the cat who ate the canary. “Holy shit, Meyer.”

Meyer can’t help but press his lips together, possessive pride warring with concern and not a little embarrassment as he lightly drags a thumb over the purpling smudges on Charlie’s neck. “Too much?” he asks, tentative even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer already.

And as expected, Charlie snorts. “You fuckin’ kidding me? That was _amazing_ ,” he slurs out against the crown of Meyer’s head, a satisfied sigh following the words as punctuation. “I, uh, didn't know y’could hold my weight up so easy,” he says quietly. When Meyer looks up the flush across his face is right back to the dusky pink, and he bites his lip against a sheepish grin when Meyer meets his eyes. And Meyer’s just going to file _that_ reaction away for future reference.

“Neither did I,” Meyer hums, still tracing the marks, but leans his cheek against Charlie’s shoulder to catch his breath. “...I don't like anyone else touching you,” he murmurs against the fabric of Charlie’s shirt. He doesn't have the heat of the moment to justify it, but that doesn't make it any less true.

Charlie picks his head up and slides his hands up Meyer’s jaw, tilting his face up to meet Charlie’s gaze. He leans in and presses his lips to Meyer’s, soft and slow in contrast to the frantic biting kisses of a few moments ago. “Good, ‘cause I only want you touchin’ me in the first place.”

Some of the tension drains out of Meyer’s shoulders, and he kisses back, gentle and reassured. “Wanna get out of here?” he says, pulling back from the embrace and tilting his head towards the bathroom door.

“ _Fuck_ yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> i live for comments, or come talk to me about gangsters in love on [tumblr!](http://meyerlansky.tumblr.com/)


End file.
